I'm With You
by anangelslament
Summary: Person comes home. Person needs help. Another person helps. Semi drama ensues.


The pitter patter of water hitting the worn tile could be heard from the hallway. As the key turned in the old, rusted lock a soft hum could be heard. She was singing in the shower again, he thought, and I'm beat to all hell and can barely walk. What is she doing up this late anyway? "Abby?" he called lightly, his voice just above a whisper for fear of waking any of the other inhabitants, if they were even home. He kicked off his shoes and lightly padded over to the bathroom door, wishing that for once that the kitchen sink would produce hot water when the shower was on. He was in no shape for any of his friends or roommates to see him. "Abby?" he questioned as his head slowly popped in the door.

"Home already?"

"Yes."

"That's not like you." Abby peeked out from behind the shower curtain. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I was mugged. Well… sort of. The guy just really had a problem with another guy being in heels. He didn't take anything though. Just some skin and blood."

"Come here." Abby flung open the shower curtain. Her naked form could be seen.

"Abby. I couldn't."

"You know there isn't any other source of hot water. Strip your skinny butt down and get in here."

He stripped out of the remainder of his clothes, cursing himself for wearing his favorite outfit on tonight of all nights. Everything was ruined now, blood stained his shirt and skirt and his stockings were a sight to be seen. Once in the shower with the hot water beating down on his torn and bruised skin he felt his muscles start to relax. Abby then attacked with the wet washcloth and disinfectant. His skin crawled when the cool liquid hit his open wounds. "I wish you'd let me go with you once in awhile," she said.

"Abby…"

"I know it's your time and all but… this is starting to get a tad out of hand here. I don't mind helping you out. I rather like it but, I can't stand to see you beaten up like this. Make-up can only cover so much."

"That's why I don't wear it all the time." A slight giggle escaped the pair's lips. "Why are you up anyway? This is late, even for you."

"We had a fight. He left. I couldn't stand the feeling of defeat any longer so I decided that a shower was in order."

"I see. Ow! That hurts."

"Sorry. It's a nasty cut. Now turn and let me see the front of you."

Bruises covered his chest and stomach, turning it purple, black, blue, yellow, and green. It looked as if a child had decided to finger-paint all over themselves. "Oh god…how could people be so cruel? How did you even make it home?"

"It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Oh yea?" A finger lightly traced its way around a bruise on his stomach. He flinched. "Don't lie to me. You must hurt like hell."

"The water helps."

"Uh-huh. Once we're done here I'll look for the massage oil. Ok?"

"You don't need to."

"I want to. It might help with some of the swelling at the very least. I'll let you finish up here. I'm going to get dressed."

"Ok."

Hot water continued to rain down on his thin frame. It did hurt when he breathed, just a little bit but, he would live. This was not the first time he had come home with bruised ribs. The water soothed his aching body as his thoughts wandered to the gentle massage to come from Abby once he met up with her in his room. He hated how this was the only way the two of them were able to bond. They needed to go out and get a drink or something. Abby did not deserve to constantly clean up other people's messes.

"You ok in there," she called.

"Yes. I'll be out in a minute."

The water began to grow colder and as his small frame began to slightly shake he stepped out onto the cold hardwood to reach for a towel. Dripping wet he slowly dragged himself into his bedroom where Abby was waiting with a hot mug of tea and peppermint oil. Both, his favorite and perfect for the season at hand. As he reached for a clean t-shirt her hand stopped his. "Don't bother. It'll just get in the way."

"You're right," he replied as he sipped at his tea. The warmth coursed though his body and made some of the lesser aches disappear. "Thank you."

"Not a problem. You know I love taking care of you. You're much easier to deal with than…well let's not talk about him at the moment."

"Ok."

"You ready now?"

"Sure."

"Just get comfortable and tell me where it hurts the most."

He lay on his chest, bearing the pain, for the knots that had worked their way into his shoulders needed relaxing. Abby promptly set to work.

"Why did he leave tonight?"

"He thought I was cheating on him."

"Why would he think that?"

"I don't know but, I think he was high, again. He came home from practice and just started screaming at me."

"Abby…"

"Don't feel sorry. It's not your fault he can be such an ass."

"Ow."

"What did you say?"

"It hurts to breathe like this."

"Then get up," she said as he switched from his stomach to his back.

"You want to know what?"

"What," he asked as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"I think I fell in love with the wrong roommate."

"What?"

"If he accuses me of cheating let me give him something to really blame me for."

"What are you talking about?"

"Forget it. Just lie down and let me finish."

"Ow."

"Sorry. It's just…you've been turned into a giant bruise."

"I know…I…never mind."

"No. What?"

"That cheating thing. I can't believe he would even think that."

"Me neither."

"But…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Out with it already."

"Well…it's more of an action rather than words."

"Ok."

The pair just sat on his bed, staring at one another, waiting for the other to make their move. As soon as he leaned up to kiss her, in what would be a life altering kiss, the door opened to reveal a soaking wet and apologetic looking Roger Davis. Abby, however had not noticed his return until his cries of "Mark Cohen, the drag queen. I fucking knew it" and the slam of the door filled the room.


End file.
